


Huntsman

by witch_brew



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cannibalism, Dark, Death, Fairytale Themes, Gen, Gore, Graphic, Guro, Other, Reader-Insert, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural Creatures, Torture, Violence, inhuman!strade, monster!strade, noncon, supernatural!strade, the reader technically dies, this is gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witch_brew/pseuds/witch_brew
Summary: They say not to go into the woods alone. You soon learn what has them so afraid.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again with the gross Strade fanfiction! Sorry it's so short, I plan to write something longer soon.

"Don't go into the woods alone." They warned.

"There is danger there."

Some said it was wolves. Others still said it was a demon. Some called it a deity. A wood spirit maybe? One of the fey?

No one believed a human could do what the creature in the woods did. They were right about that at least.

The entire town feared the woods.

And yet here you are. Standing just outside the tree line. Peering into the dimness ahead. Every year they send someone in to try and appease it.

They always wait until morning for the person to return. They never do.

Sometimes the bodies turn up. When a group of townspeople venture within the woods for food. It's very rare to find an entire person. Rarer still for them to be identifiable.

Whoever they send wears red.

So here you are. Your clothes are a bright spot among the trees. They'll be able to see you for quite a ways before the path winds sharply and the ominous trees swallow you up.

Red can't protect you from that.

(It isn't really for protection. You know that. It's to help them find the bodies.)

You grip your lantern tightly, glance back and smile nervously at those standing closest. No one returns it.

Your feet carry you down the path. Into the woods. No one says a word until you are far from earshot.

You wonder if you will be mourned.

For a long while your walk is uninterrupted. You pause at the sharp bend in the path to breathe and ground yourself. You must do this. This is how it must be.

And so you continue.

It is nightfall now. No sounds stir among the dense darkness of the forest. There are no birds. It's suffocating, this silence.

An owl hoots and you nearly drop your lantern.

You walk a little faster, shoes crunching the dried, long dead leaves on the forest floor. It smells like dirt and the chill of early winter is beginning to settle in your bones. You wonder if any of those sent in ever froze before it found them.

You don't get a chance to ponder this further. A howl pierces the silence within the woods, and this time you do drop your lantern. The flame sputters and dies.

You grab it, scrambling for the matches you carry in your clothes, you strike one. It burns your shaking fingers, and you fail to light your lantern. 

Before the flames go out, they reflect the eyes of several large wolves slowly stalking towards you. You are frozen for a fraction of a second before choosing to abandon your lantern, fleeing into the trees, away from the snarls and heavy footfalls of the wolves, who are most definitely on the hunt. 

You stumble a few times on the thick roots of the trees as the wolves give chase, driving your deeper and deeper into the woods, but manage to keep your footing as you run blindly.

You know if you fall, you'll die. The wolves will tear you apart and whats left will be consumed by scavengers before winter can cover your bones with it's thick snows. 

You keep running. You don't want to die like this. 

You don't realize the trees are thinning out until you stumble out into a clearing and stop. 

You can see again, the bright moonlight casting the clearing in an eerie glow. The clearing is a perfect circle, maybe ten feet across, and there is no plant life growing within apart from the grass.

You manage to take all of this in in seconds before you hear the vicious snarling of the wolves behind you. 

You turn back, eyes wide, knowing you won't make it out of this alive, as the wolves reach the edge of the trees.

And... stop. 

They continue to snarl, pacing about the edge of the clearing, sniffing at the dirt. You don't move a muscle, staring at the furious, hungry animals. 

What is this?

A smaller wolf, clearly the youngest in the group, grows impatient, lunging forwards into the field and racing towards you while the others grow louder. 

It never reaches your terror-stricken form.

Something vaguely man sized tackles the beast, and they struggle on the ground for a moment, the wolf snarling viciously and snapping at the neck of the man. He wraps a hand around the muzzle of the infuriated wolf, his other hand jerking forwards towards its abdomen. The wolf yelps loudly before falling limp. 

Dead.

The man slowly sits up, and you feel relief rush over you a moment too soon. You think you are saved. 

Then he brings a chunk of the wolf's innards to his mouth and takes a bite. 

You nearly gag at the sight, stumbling back a few steps before falling onto your rear, drawing the man's attention. 

He turns to look at you, and he smiles wide, blood smeared across his otherwise attractive and friendly face. 

His eyes are golden and g l o w i n g.

You whimper and his smile grows. 

“Hello, Beute.” He greets, strangely amiable considering the way he is stalking towards you.

You scramble back, more horrified whimpers falling from your lips. He isn't human. He isn't human. 

“Now, now, little beute. You should know not to run, it just makes the hunt more fun for me.” 

He crouches in front of you and reaches out, laughing when you flinch, to stroke his thumb beneath your right eye, collecting the warm tears you had not realized were falling freely. 

“You know what they call me? Jäger. You, pretty beute, can call me Strade for tonight.”

He smiles kindly, and you shake, sobs catching in your throat, as he reaches out and catches your ankle, dragging you sharply towards him. Claws on his fingers cut into the soft flesh on your ankle and you cry out. He shivers, a low growl emanating from deep within his chest.

You find yourself wishing you had allowed the wolves to have you. 

His claws cut open your clothes and you begin to beg him not to kill you. He seems to only grow more fevered in his actions with each plea and sob, carelessly ripping the majority of your clothes away, claws catching your unmarked skin in several places, furthering your panic and making you cry out. 

“Please, Strade, please!” You sob, and he shushes you playfully as he smooths a clawed hand down your stomach.

He smells of rust and that same musk of a wild predator. 

He soothes you, waiting for your sobs to calm, and after a bit they do. Something about him calms you. He's inhuman and terrifying but he feels so genuinely happy. It's unsettling, and you suspect this calm may involve some aspect of supernatural involvement. 

“There we are, little beute.” He whispers.

And then he drives his claws into the soft part of your belly, tearing clean through the skin and plunging in deep. You scream loud and clear, the sound piercing in the silence of the forest. 

He groans, pulling his hand back, tearing a chunk of flesh as he goes. He eats it as he watches your face twist in agony. His eyes glaze with lust, and your fear skyrockets. 

He flicks his fingers at the laces of his leather pants, undoing them to pull out his cock. He doesn't prepare you, and with the claws on his fingers you aren't complaining much, but you're fairly certain he tears your hole with the force he shoves himself into you with, and your cries of pain only grow louder. 

He fucks you forcefully, gripping you by the hips, claws carving into the skin above your thighs. His hips slam into your with such force that you're certain he is going to break the bones. You hope you die before then. 

“You're one of the best ones they've sent me.” He grunts, staring down at your form as you writhe from the agony. 

He begins to tear chunks from the wound in your gut, eating as he fucks you. Slowly the pain fades, and you are startled to find yourself enjoying this.

This is wrong. You shouldn't feel good right now.

But the euphoria slowly fills you nonetheless, and you clutch Strade's shoulders as you climax, screaming his name into the night sky. He fucks you through it before reaching his own end, leaning down and tearing out your throat with his teeth. 

“I think I will keep you.” He sighs as you bleed out. 

You smile up at him. 

A year passes, and no corpse turns up from the last sacrifice sent into the forest. They send out another, of course, they always do. 

This one doesn't impress Strade. He ends things fairly quickly, only briefly torturing them. 

When he turns, beckoning you from the trees, you approach slowly, naked apart from the red cloak you wore when you first entered these woods. His glowing eyes shine with mirth as he beckons towards the corpse, urging you to eat. 

You crouch in front of the body, claws tearing a chunk of still warm flesh from it. You look up at him. 

“Eat, Raubtier.” He breathes.

And you do.


End file.
